


what baking can do

by newhoraizons



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: A cup of fluff & a dash of hurt/comfort, A healthy dose of Joe/Nicky being Joe/Nicky, A hearty helping of Joe & Nile being besties, And questionable baking techniques by yours truly, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25842544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newhoraizons/pseuds/newhoraizons
Summary: Tales of a blossoming friendship told through sweet treats and tasty pastries. (Or, Joe and Nile bond over their mutual love for baking.)
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nile Freeman & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani
Comments: 36
Kudos: 283





	what baking can do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingyusuf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingyusuf/gifts).



> I'd like to dedicate this fic to Kit, who has been nothing but supportive of this endeavour and came up with the idea of baker!Joe with me. I also owe a massive thank you to our friends in our Discord server. They’ve also supported my writing process and this fic as a whole, which is why I'm semi-confident in posting this. If it wasn't for them, this might've stayed in my drafts forever. Translations can be found in the end notes!

Nile wakes up to the familiar scent of banana bread wafting through her room. Fresh out of the oven, judging by the strength of the sweet aroma. The subtle notes of cinnamon and vanilla seamlessly blend with the rich essence of the banana. It pulls her from the depths of a nap and back to times past. Remembered places. _Home_.

Thoughts of a small kitchen in orderly disarray push to the forefront of her mind, as does the mental image of her mother bustling around said kitchen. A bright, contagious smile rests on her mother’s lips and she hums an upbeat tune under her breath. She’s the picture of peace and tranquility. The memory exudes warmth, comfort, and a streak of competitiveness. Nile can picture her brother catching wind of the banana bread and trying to snag a taste before she does. Right about now, she’d be bolting out of her room and right past him.

But this isn’t home. That realization churns a blend of grief and acceptance in her chest. Instead, she’s in an (admittedly lavish) estate on the outskirts of the English countryside. More importantly, it's a temporary shelter. Until the events in London no longer cover front pages and dominate the news, the team’s lying low with Copley. And sure, it’s an upgrade from a ramshackle church or a decrepit mineshaft, but it feels a little too close to comfort. If she lays in bed for too long, letting herself melt into soft sheets and a warm bed, she tricks herself into believing that things are normal.

Still, it’s better than nothing. Nile’s just grateful to have a room all to herself, even if she tends to leave her door open rather than hiding behind its privacy. It’s nice to hear the distant chatter from her teammates or smell whatever it is Nicky’s cooking up. He’s taken full advantage of the modern appliances and abundance of ingredients Copley’s house provides, which explains why he’s decided to make banana bread at—

“Eight in the morning,” Nile mutters, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. “Yeah, that tracks.”

From what Nile’s seen, Nicky is the self-appointed chef of the group. Truth be told, Nile isn’t sure she trusts Andy to make something edible anyway. Booker might temporarily be out of the equation, but she’s pretty sure he couldn’t work a microwave if he tried either. Joe’s the outlier Nile hasn’t counted out just yet, but he seems content to let Nicky take the reigns. 

Nile remembers pushing him for an answer not too long ago. While Nicky prepared dinner, she’d taken to pestering Joe as they set the table. After all, she’d never seen him so much as boil water. No one could blame her for being curious. 

“Nicky has a gift!” Joe had proclaimed, sweeping his arms out in a grand gesture. “In all my years, I’ve never tasted cooking as delicious as his. Ask Andy and she’ll tell you the same.”

The very moment the words left his mouth, he spared a glance into the kitchen. Nicky still loomed over the stove, brows furrowed in concentration. With his husband preoccupied, Joe nudged Nile’s side and offered her a conspiratory wink. 

“He’s also the pickiest man I’ve ever met,” he’d whispered. “If he can’t cook it, he won’t eat it.”

So that was that. Nile accepted the answer for what it was and didn’t push the subject. Now that she knows Nicky can bake, though? She might be tempted to pick his brain for recipes. After she digs into that sweet-smelling banana bread, of course. It’ll be a much needed slice of comfort and will definitely count as breakfast, despite Copley’s anticipated protests. 

By the time she reaches the kitchen, Joe and Nicky are slow dancing across the room. They sway to and fro, moving perfectly as one, while jazz music quietly plays from a nearby speaker. Nicky’s head is hidden in the crook of Joe’s neck, Joe has his arms wound tightly around Nicky’s waist, and Nile suddenly feels like she’s intruding on a private moment. 

“ _Nicolò_ ,” she hears Joe murmur. His tone is playful, but there’s a hint of something more. A warning, maybe?

In response, Nicky whines. “ _Per piacere_ —”

“No,” is all Joe manages before Nicky’s entire body lurches toward the oven. Joe rushes to pull him back, but not before bursting into peals of laughter. “ _Basta, basta!_ ”

Now Nile is paying _extra_ close attention to their movements. When Nicky leans his body in the opposite direction, Joe immediately rocks back a few steps. Once more, Nicky tries guiding their intertwined bodies toward the oven. Joe effortlessly spins Nicky around before he can reach his destination. The switch leaves Joe’s back to the counter and keeps Nicky further away. 

This isn’t just a dance between lovers. It’s a subtle fight that Joe looks to be winning. That much is obvious when Nicky pulls back slightly, arms crossed petulantly over his chest. He mutters something under his breath that Nile can’t discern, but the words are enough to make Joe laugh even harder. Shoulders shaking and eyes crinkling at the corners, he presses a kiss to Nicky’s cheek.

“You’re acting like a child,” Joe teases. “And for what? Some bread?”

That’s when Nile spots it. There, cooling off on top of the stove, is the banana bread. To Nicky’s credit, it looks baked to perfection. Golden brown, lightly drizzled with pecans, and smelling absolutely divine. No wonder he’s so eager to get a taste. 

“ _Per piacere, amore_ ,” Nicky huffs, throwing his arms over Joe’s shoulders. “ _Ti prego, tagli il pane alla banana_.”

Nile realizes he’s trying to reach for the pan bare-handed. Unfortunately, Joe is nothing if not persistent. He’s an immovable object in the face of an unstoppable force. Not even a pleading Nicky can break him. 

Just then, Joe notices Nile. His face splits with a grin, as if this is more of a pleasant surprise than an unwelcome interruption. “Nile! So nice of you to join us.”

Nicky immediately twists toward the doorway. His expression soon matches Joe’s, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. Nile knows what he’s thinking before he even opens his mouth. 

“Nile,” Nicky begins, “tell Joe that the bread’s been out long enough—”

“Five minutes is _not_ —”

“—and that we should get a taste.”

“We’ve been alive for a millenia. What’s another five minutes?”

“When it comes to your baking? A lifetime."

Nile’s brows immediately rise up her forehead. “Hold up, I thought Nicky did all the cooking?”

“Baking isn’t for me,” Nicky is quick to clarify. “We learned that the hard way three centuries ago. Joe never told you?”

When both pairs of eyes land on him, Joe shrugs. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

In a split second, Nile’s striding toward the stove. She can’t quite believe what she’s hearing, but the proof is in the pudding. Or rather, the banana bread. She stares into the pan as if it’s capable of revealing its creator’s secrets. As if she can pin Joe’s complexities down through the components of this single loaf. When she glances up at Joe, his grin is even brighter than before. 

“We all have our hobbies,” he says, “and art is more than what you put on a page.” 

“Baking also requires a softer touch,” Nicky chimes in. Taking Joe’s face between his palms, he beams. “Don’t let this one fool you. There’s no man as tender or as gifted. They say these hands have crafted nothing but masterpieces, the likes of which have yet to be replicated.”

“No one says that. And you call _me_ the incurable romantic?”

“Just take the compliment, Joe. And while you’re at it, why don’t we take — hey!”

Knife in one hand, a slice in the other, Nile panics. She stuffs the entire piece into her mouth before Nicky can fully protest. His hopeful expression falters and he looks utterly heartbroken by her betrayal. Joe, on the other hand, is only mildly put-off by her blatant disregard for safety hazards. 

On her end, Nile is far more preoccupied with savoring the slice. The obvious burst of banana stands out, but there’s more than that. More than the familiar warmth of vanilla and cinnamon too. There are noticeable hints of honey that splash across her tongue, then something deeper, richer even, that she can actually put a finger on.

“You used dark brown sugar,” manages to make it past her mouthful of bread. “Nice touch.”

She hands the knife off to Nicky, who happily wrestles himself free from Joe’s grip. Realizing it’s now a lost cause, Joe lets his husband go without resistance. It’s while Nicky’s helping himself to a thick slice that Joe studies Nile — head cocked, brows raised, and hands on his hips. It’s simultaneously inquisitive and knowing, like he’s trying to fill in the pieces of a half-finished puzzle. She catches him out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to be too obvious when turning her head to catch him in the act. But by then, his stare isn’t quite so intense anymore. More retrospective. Maybe a bit fond. 

“You bake?” 

She manages a small smile, ignoring the melancholic pang in her chest. “You could say that.”

“We should swap recipes then,” he suggests. “You teach me, I teach you.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I only know one recipe by heart.” 

It’s not a total lie, either. Though she has a general grasp of her mother’s many recipes, there’s one in particular that Nile’s perfectly committed to memory. It’s this recipe that she holds close to her chest and covets above the rest. Compared to the centuries upon centuries Joe has had to rack up his own recipe stash, she feels slightly intimidated. 

“Then we’ll start with what you know,” he insists. “We can work our way up from there.”

If she’s being honest, Nile _does_ have an urge to throw open the cupboards and get down to baking. It’ll probably be better than wasting away in this big house, thousands of miles from her family, still adjusting to her new lot in life. At least there’s comfort to be found in the center of a piping hot pastry. (And if she’s being honest yet again, this is as good of an excuse as any to get to know Joe better. Something more than casual pleasantries and the natural pull that comes with the territory of being immortal.)

“Alright,” she agrees. “Count me in.”

Joe clasps her shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze. His ear-to-ear grin is so infectious, she finds herself smiling right back. It’s genuine too, reaching her eyes and bringing a certain glow about her.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Joe says, sounding genuine with the claim. Nile finds that comforting. “I promise to keep Nicky from eating everything—”

“He can’t make those promises,” Nicky interjects, taking a bit of what must surely be his third slice. “When have you ever been able to tell me no?”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Nile counters on Joe’s behalf. “Besides, you’ll have to go through _me_ now. I can and will fight you, Nicky.”

Nicky makes an offended sound in the back of his throat and puts a hand over his heart. Joe has another full-body laughing fit and tugs Nile in for a side hug, equal parts amused and delighted by her response. 

Later that night — as Joe peels off his shirt and glues himself to Nicky’s side — he catches a contemplative look on his husband’s face. He runs a palm across Nicky’s abdomen and settles it on his hip, and just like that, Nicky melts against him. They settle into a bed that’s two sizes too big for a couple that rarely sleeps more than a few inches apart. Joe rubs soothing circles into the bare skin above Nicky’s waistband, patiently waiting for Nicky to speak when he’s good and ready. 

When he does, it’s to say, “You never let anyone bake with you.”

Joe responds with an indifferent hum, pressing a kiss to the back of Nicky’s neck. They both know it’s a distraction, and on any other given night, it might work. Tonight is not one of those nights. 

Again, Nicky says, “You never let anyone bake with you. Ever.” 

Joe sighs this time, placing his chin between Nicky’s cheek and shoulder. “Andy would find a way to burn water, Nicolò. You know that.”

Though his name goes unspoken, both are well aware that Booker is no different. It’s always been Joe and Nicky handling their respective kitchen duties and doing so happily. As territorial as Nicky gets over each carefully prepared meal, Joe is likewise dedicated to his craft. 

“Besides,” Joe continues, “it’ll be nice to have some help. All you do is eat the batter when I’m not looking and distract me when I am.”

“You’re a miserable liar, Yusuf.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I know exactly what you’re doing,” Nicky states, lazily tracing patterns across the back of Joe’s hand. “I think it’ll be good for her, though. Maybe for the both of you.”

Joe swallows back a lump his throat. “Yeah,” he softly agrees. “So do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this fic, feel free to drop a kudos or comment, but only if that's what you're into. If you prefer other methods, you can privately hug your phone/computer close to your chest and whisper, "Thank you." I promise I'll hear your kind words, sense your gratitude, and smile to myself. Before you head out, here’s the Italian from chapter one: 
> 
> _Per piacere, amore._ — Please, love.  
>  _Basta, basta!_ — That’s enough/Knock it off.  
>  _Ti prego, tagli il pane alla banana._ — Please cut the banana bread.


End file.
